


Magical Hazard Disposal

by darkrogue1 (Lily_Haydee_Lohdisse)



Series: Operation Imothep [3]
Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: And because I believe the Faceless Men are also doing good things with their experiments, Because Ryan Carroll's ceramics are obviously not just art, F/M, Lesley's got an eye for paintings - this time it's an art gallery, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 11:39:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14424630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lily_Haydee_Lohdisse/pseuds/darkrogue1
Summary: Something supernatural is afoot in an Art Gallery in Peckham, and Lesley May has something to do with it...





	Magical Hazard Disposal

We got the summons from the official channels this time. Someone at the Art Gallery had phoned the police about a break in where nothing was stolen, and the last thing the surveillance recorded before getting fried by unknown means was a girl in a weird mask. She had quickly been identified as Lesley May, and between that and strange _things_ happening to the guards, well, who you gonna call?    
  
A mere sighting of Lesley didn't warrant intervention from the higher powers - going by the name of Nightingale -, which meant I was alone when I found myself carefully stepping out of the Asbo in front of the Gallery in Peckham.  
  
I was eagerly awaited and an Amy Daniels, head of security, ushered me inside the Gallery, and from there, directly in the surveillance room.  
  
From the videos, the girl in the mask _was_ indeed Lesley, as if I had any reason to doubt that, and I recognised her both from her body and attitude as from her hair and lack of face.  
  
That, and she had winked at the camera before frying it with a _werelight_.  
  
So then I asked about the strange happenings which had occurred after her visit. The answers were... reluctant and I found it suspicious at first, before I found out that the exhibit meant to open later that night was an _Erotic_ Art exposition, and that the effect that had struck the security guards in the South-East corner was something akin to Sex Pollen, or at least a strong _Seducere_.  
  
The contaminated area had soon been cut off from the rest of the room with red rope stanchions, and they had wisely waited for more qualified agents to intervene. In this case, this would be me.  
  
_Praemonitus Praemunitus._ Forewarned is forearmed they say, and if Lesley had indeed been there and had taken nothing, maybe she had _left_ something instead. A gift for us maybe, or some devious trap. So I went back to the Asbo and took out the bag with my trap defusing material, and, armed with a twig, cautiously made my way towards the far end of the Gallery.  
  
The room was modern and bare, with nothing to distract me from the displays. There were some sculptures, of course, but it was mostly painted arts, and etching prints.  
  
The one framed picture separated from the rest of the room was one of those. A small etching, less than an A4 paper size, printed in black and white. I looked at my leaflet for more information, and besides the name of the artist, found out that it's title was _Zeus and Ganymede_. So, with my twig carefully drawn in front of me, I stepped inside the ropes.  
  
I felt it hit me almost immediately, struck me as that feeling in the worst part of a bad porno, when you don't know why but enjoy it all the same, as falling in lust with an unattainable actor on the screen, as the pleasure and shame of a first masturbated orgasm. Yes, I agreed that Sex Pollen was an apt description. And yet it was only _vestigium_. Powerful _vestigium_ , of extreme arousal, mixed with a sense of relief that had nothing to do with the sexual one, and strangely awe.  
  
I had felt something akin to that before, in Ryan Carroll's ceramic art at the Tate. So I tried to ignore the way my body was reacting and concentrated on the etching instead. A fresh wave of arousal swept over me, and it wasn't only due to the magical echo. Bad idea, really bad idea.  
  
Still I needed to inspect what was causing this effect, and moved closer, and to the side.  
  
The frame was slightly tilted, as if something had hastily been stuck under it, and I used the twig to push it a bit further from the wall.  
  
The small ceramic plate fell down on the floor with a clattering noise. It was about the same as those I had seen at the time, with the faintest outline of a face drawn on it, and was radiating magic as a piece of scaffolding at the Chernobyl reactor would have radioactivity.  
  
I took a small container I'd learnt to forge for objects like this in my bag, and dropped it in before hastily closing the lid.  
  
The magical echo in which I had been basted was abruptly cut off, which was a good thing, the physical effect it had been having on me didn't, which was less comfortable. So I took a few steps back, and let myself fall down on the bench provided for visitors, and found myself staring at the etching anew.  
  
This time I could contemplate it more normally, though I couldn't deny I found it entirely too stimulating to be comfortable viewing it in a public setting.  
  
Ganymede and Zeus. I could see it. The scene was set inside a room, its window showing pastures reminding of the young man's previous job as a shepherd, discarded on the table and chair were the Master of Olympus' power insignias, while Ganymede's cup had rolled on the floor at their feet.  
  
Half draped in a sheet which was hiding nothing, the old god of thunder was fucking a young athletic Ganymede from behind, holding one of his hands away from his body with one hand, pressing him down with the other to keep him bend in two while the young man clutched to another piece of furniture to keep upright.  
  
Gods, Zeus was a beautiful and fit white man for all his wise wrinkles and white beard, but what got to me was Ganymede's face. Wrapped in ecstasy, gone with the joy of rapture, you could see the exaltation he felt had little to do with divine fervor and more with earthly pleasures.  
  
And Ganymede was black.  
  
I couldn't help but think about it, another authority figure, old, very old, magical and powerful and how it would feel if it were him like that, standing over me.  
  
I stood up, despite the incomfort, grabbed my bags, and hurried to the exit, far away from the erotic picture.  
  
I avoided the guards and went to dump my bag into the trunk of my car. The fresh air helped me settle and cool my head.  
  
I would gladly have fled the scene, but I'm a professional, so I went back.  
  
First to check that Lesley hadn't left any more surprises, then to assure Mrs Daniels that the gallery was once again secure and could open without any danger to the public. But after I was done with that, I didn't dwell to look at the exhibition and drove to Beverley's, just to make sure I had other things in mind that night than the blasted art Lesley had chosen to enhance.  
  
  
\----------------  
  
"Yes, I got it, thank you. I'll put it in the file."  
  
The next day, in Alexander Seawoll's office. The DCI was looking at a newspaper scan he had received by mail, and talking on his phone.  
  
The article read : ' _POTENTIAL CURE FOR PERSISTENT GENITAL AROUSAL DISORDER? At the London University College Hospital, a new experimental treatment seems to offer promises...'_


End file.
